Other faces, other hands, the demand always the same. For him to give…give…give…

Still others – those wanting to take his life.

Dumarest jerked, rolling from the bunk, body tensed for combat. But he was alone, the cabin secure, no visible threat evident. A dream. A nightmare. He had known them before but rarely with such intensity. Seated he fought to slow the rapid gusting of his lungs, the tattoo-liked drumming of his heart. His thoughts swirled as if driven by a fountain of bubbles.

Why had the monk warned him against finding Earth?

Why had Cazele?

In imagination Dumarest saw his face limned on the bulkhead, old, hard, the vapour from the tisane giving him the appearance of a brooding idol. A shrewd and cunning man who worked for his own ends. One who could have intended to provide subtle clues.

He knew the creed of the Original People – were they to be found on Fionnula? How had he known that Earth had been proscribed? What had he meant by saying the Church knew more than it told. As did others. Which others?

What other organization matched the Church in its world-spanning influence?

There was only one. Was it possible the Cyclan could be working in unison with the Church? Did they know where Earth was to be found? If so why had they wasted so much time and effort hunting him from world to world?

Logic demanded they would have allowed him easy passage to the planet of his birth – and the trap they would have set to close around him once he had arrived. So they could not know of Earth or, if they did, they wanted to keep him from it.

Why?

A question as yet beyond solution, but another was not. Cazele had been emphatic in his savage condemnation of Earth. Had he been acting or had he been sincere? Nadine would know.

"Earl!" Her eyes widened as she saw him. "This is a surprise. Is anything wrong?"

"No. May I come in?"

She was dressed for bed, wearing a black chiton which left one shoulder bare, the thin fabric held at her waist by a silver cord, the lower edge falling to just above her knees. Her feet were bare. Her hair unbound, the thick tresses falling over her shoulders to blend with the color of her raiment accentuating the pallor of her skin. Her face looked younger than her years. The cabin held the scent of her perfume.

"I was trying to sleep." She gestured at the bunk, the rumpled cover. "I couldn't. You?"

"I had a nightmare."

"I can guess what about." Her voice hardened. "That Cazele! We should have destroyed his town!"

"What good would that have done?"

"None," she admitted. "But the Kaldari believe in revenge."

A bloodbath of the innocent of which he wanted no part nor, he guessed, did she.

Dumarest stepped past her into the cabin, looking around, seeing the small, feminine touches which made the place uniquely hers. A print of a kitten stuck to a bulkhead, a scrap of rich fabric which softened the contours of a stanchion, a tiny doll sitting on the table at the head of the bunk. Next to it a thing of crystal turned and bathed the compartment with swathes of delicate color.

"Brak gave it to me when I was a child," she said, noting his interest. 'There are chimes, too." She touched a stud and soft tintinnabulations filled the cabin with the music of elfin bells. "Pleasant, isn't it? I loved it as a child but now I prefer silence." The bells died as, again, she touched the stud. "Why don't you sit?"

She watched as he settled himself close to the pillow then sat on the bunk beside him, tucking her legs beneath her, her shoulder leaning against his arm.

He said, dryly, "You remember the last time we sat like this? What happened?"

"It won't happen again. Zoll's made sure of that." She lightened her weight against his arm so as to meet his eyes. "You want to talk," she said. "To ask me something but I'm not sure what. You mask your feelings. Is it something to do with the ship? The journey? Why is it taking so long?"

"We have a long way to go."

"I know. Niall told me. So what's the problem?"

"Cazele. You heard him talk and you must have read him. You knew he was lying about the alarm. Was he lying when he claimed to know of Earth?"

She frowned, trying to remember, then said, slowly, "I can't be certain. I wasn't really watching him that closely. Raw lies are obvious but other things aren't. He could have been telling the truth as he knew it."

"When he spoke of Earth?"

"The legend, yes. He wasn't lying then. Not deliberately. But how could he have been so wrong? Earth is a paradise."

Not the world Dumarest had known but it hadn't been what Cazele claimed either. He had repeated a distorted variation of the popular legend. One which could have been designed and propagated for a desired purpose. But why should Earth be so reviled?

"Damn!" Nadine voiced her annoyance as the crystal lamp ceased to revolve. "It's stuck again. I'll have to get it fixed. If you'll just lean back a little."

He felt the impact of her body as she leaned across him to correct the instrument. The chiton made a soft rustle as it mounted the columns of her thighs, one matched by the sliding contact of her flesh. The mounds of her breasts flattened against his torso.

"There! That's done it!"

She smiled as the lamp began to turn, bands of color touching her face, her hair, the long column of her throat. Turning her eyes into kaleidoscopic gems, her mouth into a demanding rose of passion. One which moved closer to his, to touch, to lock with iron determination.

Fear had ridden with them to Fionnula. Hate had joined it to lurk like an unseen passenger in chambers and compartments, in the salons, the holds, the places where people gathered. Lief Chapman could sense it. Something as real to him as the glowing instruments on his panels. Emotional stress had no meter but it was as detectable as the flow of current through a wire.

"Captain." Niall from the communicator. "Course change in fifteen. Mark!"

"Noted."

The sequence had already been incorporated. An instrument flashed as he pressed a button, electronic relays poised to move the ship from one path to another. Routine. Another bite taken from the journey.

Relaxing Chapman stared at the numbing majesty of the universe. It had, for him, a special attraction. One he had missed when tending his farm but that episode was over and now he was where he belonged. In tune with his command, in harmony with the flow of energies within the hull, at one with the invisible.

Sensing the pulse of electrons, the surge of impatient ions, the thrust and flurry and atomic particles. Forces which created a sub-aural music which could be stronger than any drug.

Entering the bridge Dumarest looked at the lax figure in the big chair and wondered if the captain had fallen victim to the siren lure. Many captains had, using drugs and symbiotes to ease the crushing burden of infinity.

Chapman opened his eyes. "I wasn't asleep, commander."

It wouldn't have mattered if he had been. Stinging electrical impulses would have woken him in case of need. Something they both knew as Dumarest recognized the reason for the use of his title. Formality had virtue when coupled to discipline.

"Where are we now, captain?"

"On the last leg of the journey." Chapman stretched. "I'll be glad when it's over. Some things last too long. I hear that you've tested the slave panel again."

"With perfume. There's some leakage but we can live with it."

"If they guess what's on your mind they won't like it," warned the captain. "I'm not sure I like it myself. You don't gas your crew."

"It isn't for the crew. It's for the others. You'd rather they mutinied?" Dumarest didn't force an answer. The word alone was repugnant to any captain. "I'm simply taking precautions. Zehava tells me that hotheads are stirring up trouble. Nadine reports there have been changes in cabin-partners and group-assemblies. You know what that means."